


Truth In All Those Stories That I Told

by prettybirdy979



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Family Bonding, Family Issues, Fluff and Angst, Forgiveness, Gen, Mother-Son Relationship, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Post-Spider-Man: Homecoming, Protective May Parker (Spider-Man), Repairing Relationships, Superpowers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-06
Updated: 2018-03-06
Packaged: 2019-03-27 19:34:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13887678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prettybirdy979/pseuds/prettybirdy979
Summary: Saying you forgive someone is easy. Moving on from their lies is not.And Peter's been lying about alotof things. Understanding how much - andacceptingit - might help May.Though she's also starting to realise exactly how much she has to worry about.





	Truth In All Those Stories That I Told

**Author's Note:**

> So many thanks to Zwaluw - without you I doubt I would have ever finished this silly little fic. 
> 
> Title from [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uDX7ucubK0U)

May will be the first to admit she’s not much of a cook - she’d never had to be until now - but the look on Peter’s face when he walks in and sees her standing in the kitchen sends a bolt of annoyance through her.

‘I’m not that bad,’ she grumbles, which gets a disbelieving look from her nephew. ‘I’m not!’

Peter doesn’t even bother to answer, simply looking at the takeout containers from last night that are sitting above their overflowing bin.

Cheeky brat.

‘Do you want me to cook?’ he offers, nudging her away from the counter and the various food stuffs she’s already got out.

‘Oh so you suddenly know how to cook?’ May asks with a laugh in her voice. It doesn’t quite cover the hurt she’s still feeling, that sinking sensation that she doesn’t know the boy in front of her. That somehow she looked away for a second and her sweet and nerdy nephew has been replaced.

By someone noble and strong. And a _liar_ , even if his reasons were sound.

Peter flinches like he’s been hit and a bolt of pain shoots through May. No, it’s not right to take her feelings out on her boy. He’d screwed up yes, but his grounding finished a week ago and he’s followed the rules since. She has to move on and let him prove himself to her; not throw his screw up back in his face.

Even if every day - and night - is impossibly long until Peter is back in his bed and under her watchful eye.

One day he’s not going to come back, she can feel it in her bones. The knowledge is a lead weight on her chest, a stone that burns with certainty every time she sees Spider-Man on the news or in a YouTube video. Even shots of him walking away only lifts the stone a touch, and it gets heavier with every passing second.

But he’s too much like his father and Ben… if she pushes, forces him to stop, he’ll push back. Sneak out. Take risks, in the name of protecting her. And she’ll only lose him sooner.

Like Ben.

‘I just can’t imagine Tony Stark teaching you to cook,’ she adds, as if Peter never flinched and she can feel how her nephew relaxes.

‘He didn’t. Hasn’t. Umm… I watched a couple of videos on YouTube?’ He ducks his head, biting at his lip. ‘I thought you might want a break. From cooking. You know?’

A break like she’s not had in the eight months since she had to take over the role that was never hers before.

‘Okay then. Let’s see what these videos taught you.’

********

Thirty minutes, two alarms, and one phone call later they’re digging into the Chinese Peter ducked out to pick up. Sans suit, no matter how much he’d argued it was worth the risk to go a bit further for the really good stuff. But he’d bowed to May’s demands to just go down the block - Emerald’s might be the best but it was too far to walk and not good enough to risk swinging for.

His smile at her joking about the suit is still making May light with joy.

‘Good work on the duck,’ May teases as Peter gathers up the last of the containers and walks into their kitchen. ‘Best I’ve had this week.’

Peter makes a face at her. ‘Better than yours, for sure,’ he says and May gasps, putting a hand on her heart in mock outrage.

‘How could you say that? I thought you larb-ed me!’

The look Peter gives her is pure teenaged outrage; a look that managed to convey exactly how uncool he thinks she’s being while also holding that childish desire to retaliate.

May responds with the mature wisdom of her years.

She sticks her tongue out at him.

And laughs, when he just rolls his eyes and grabs a cloth to wipe down the bench. His attempt at dinner still clings to it. The fire had been put out before much smoke had gotten into the place but in the chaos a lot of mess had migrated from the stove to the bench top. Getting something to eat had taken priority over getting the kitchen spotless, especially with the clock creeping ever closer to late.

‘Oh May, your ring,’ Peter says, pulling May out of her thoughts. He holds up her promise ring, left sitting safely on the bench when she’d gone to try to save dinner.

May runs her fingers over her left hand. ‘Oh, I… I didn’t notice I forgot to put that back on.’

Something in her pangs at her words, a deep ache that’s been her constant companion since Ben’s death. They’d been untraditional in their marriage - no rings, not even a wedding one for her - but her promise ring, bought the day after Peter had come into their lives to stay was perhaps the only outward sign she’d worn of it.

A promise made then, that no matter what he’d be by her side. Even now, when she wears it she can feel how solid it is with the weight of Ben’s words.

He’d only ever broken one promise to her and that’d been the night he died. He’d promised to go out and find Peter, bring him home safely.

Peter’d come home but Ben hadn’t been the one to bring him.

‘Pass it over?’ May says, pulling herself out of her memories of the bloodsoaked child she’d collected at the hospital and held through the night.

A second later her blood freezes as Peter takes her literally and _passes the ring over_.

‘Peter!’ she cries as she fumbles for the ring. And misses, watching it slip between her fingers and bounce under their sofa. Great. Now she’s going to have to move it.

‘Oops,’ Peter says, throwing himself over the bench in a smooth movement. Before she can blink, he’s ducking down to look under the sofa and frowning. ‘Damn, it’s right in the middle.’

‘Good shot,’ May remarks and gets a soft snort from her nephew. ‘Go get the broom, I don’t feel like moving this.’

Peter just shakes his head, puts a hand under the sofa and picks it up.

One handed.

It looks like a toy in his hand, balanced so perfectly May’s half sure she could pick it up too. There’s no strain in his movements, no sense that he’s holding something that took two men to move in.  

Right. Super strength. Spider-Man has it… and so does her nephew.

It then dawns on her she’s staring silently and Peter’s just turned to look at her.

He freezes, his eyes wide as he stares at her. There’s a tension in the air, a sense of doom May can feel hovering a moment away. This moment feels significant; a turning point in something with consequences that she knows she’ll never have a full grasp of.

If she screws the next two seconds up, she’s going to ruin something she’ll never be able to repair.

It’s only been a moment since Peter picked up the sofa but he’s already starting to lower it.

‘Stop!’ May says, then blinks, her mouth moving faster than her brain. ‘What are you doing?’

It’s Peter’s turn to blink and he stammers out a couple of sounds. Something that might be words if May lets him speak.

She doesn’t.

‘Don’t put it down! I’ve not got my ring yet!’

A weight lifts from the air of their apartment, making it instantly easier to breathe. Peter’s face relaxes; the deer in headlights look he’d been wearing replaced by a bright smile that lightens the room further.

He lifts the sofa up above his head.

‘Oh now you’re just showing off,’ May says with a swallowed smile as she reaches down and picks up the ring. ‘I should make you pick everything in here up for that. Clean under them.’

Peter looks down at the dirty floor she just got her ring off. ‘I think it might need a clean May; have you ever done it before?’

‘Not since we got you at least,’ May snarks back. Something in her warms at the size of the smirk she gets back. ‘That’s it. Your chore for the week is to clean under everything.’

‘Aww, May!’ Peter complains, looking every bit the disgruntled teen asked to do what seems to be a ridiculous chore. ‘Do you really think anyone is gonna care if under the fridge is clean?’

‘If they lift it up they will.’

‘Who’s going to lift up our fridge?’ Peter’s outrage echoes in the apartment and makes May grin. She raises an eyebrow at him and he adds in a rush of sound. ‘Other than me.’

‘Come on Peter, it’s just a tiny bit of cleaning.’  

Peter rolls his eyes but sighs and nods. Undermining his disgruntlement is the gentle way he puts their sofa down - still making it look like he’s holding a toy rather than something capable of sitting adult humans.

Then he smirks, the same grin Ben wore whenever he had an idea that he knew May was going to have to pretend to hate, least he do it again. Dread seeps into her veins as she shakes her head.

‘No, Peter. No. Noooooooo!’ Her protests turn into a terrified shriek as Peter moves across the room and lifts her like she’s closer to five than fifty.

‘But May, don’t you want to dance?’ he says with that same cheeky grin as he twirls her around.

May can’t help the giggle that falls out of her mouth. With the spinning comes a weightlessness, like she _is_ flying; spinning through the air. Only the pressure of Peter’s light grip on her waist ruins that impression, but even that is easily ignored.

For a moment, she remembers the shape of her childhood wonder of being lifted; the feel of the joy of being lifted by someone stronger that you trusted completely.

But she’s not a child. ‘Put me down!’ she protests, slapping at Peter’s arms.

He laughs but compiles, setting her down gently, like she’s made of glass. The smirk on his face, however, promises this isn’t the end of it.

May swipes at him again, turning her laughter into a beaming smile when he dodges the second blow.

‘Don’t do that again! I mean it!’

Peter just clackles.

********

A week later, May’s beginning to understand the full scope of what Peter’s been hiding from her, in terms of his new abilities. It’s like a dam has been broken and now she’s flooded with the many changes that her boy has dealt with alone.

_Not alone_ , a part of whispers flashing the image of Iron Man before her.

_Alone_ , the rest of her hisses, watching Peter moving around the kitchen to make breakfast. It would be a normal morning but for the fact Peter’s movements are just a touch too fast, full of a grace that just doesn’t seem human.

It’s not something you would notice if you weren’t looking for it. If you didn’t realise there was something to see you might just ignore it, pass it off as a flight of fancy.

May’s watching now.

‘Any of that for me?’ May jokes as Peter sets a second plate on the table in front of his seat, a banana in his other hand.

Peter looks like a deer in headlights. ‘Umm yes?’

Laughing, May takes the banana which gets her a heartbreaking look of betrayal. Or Peter’s attempt at it, something that looks more adorable than upsetting. Like a puppy that has found its bowl is empty after eating.

‘Take this,’ she says as she moves into the kitchen to get herself a cup of coffee. Her throw isn’t perfect but Peter moves in a flash of a second, catching the apple with no apparent effort.

He makes a face at. ‘I wanted a banana.’

A flash of deviousness races through May and she grabs every banana in the bowl. ‘Have at it then.’

She throws them all at once, a bolt of delight flowing through her at Peter’s wide eyed look. Then his eyes narrow and he’s darting around, moving just a fraction too fast for her to quite register what he’s doing.

He stops in front of her with an armful of bananas and a look that manages to convey how unimpressed he is by her existence. A normal teenaged look.

Behind it is a glimmer of delight, that laughing glint that May can feel in her own attempt at a stony face.

‘I’m not a monkey,’ he says with disgust, putting all but one back in the bowl. May notices that he’s not returned the apple and warmness flows through her veins.

‘Could’ve fooled me,’ she replies getting Peter’s mature, measured, response to her teasing.

A stuck out tongue as he darts into his room. Moments later he’s back, his bag over his shoulder and apple in his mouth as he tries to peel the banana. May checks her watch and yup, Peter’s running late.

With a sigh May just raises an eyebrow at her boy as he mumbles a goodbye out past the apple and vanishes out the door.

And laughs when he returns barely a second later to put his shoes on.

********

May never used to worry (much) about where Peter was. She’d kept track, as best she could, of all the places he had to be and trusted him with everything she had to let her know if he was going to be somewhere else.

Now she worries every second, even those when she has a bone deep certainty of where he should be. But that certainty can’t manage to drown out the voices in her head whispering _lying_ over every word Peter says, that throws the memory of her first view of Peter’s suit that was too form fitting to be anything but _real._

The voices only dim when she has him in her sights, his bright smile lighting up the room. Only then does the fear crawling at her throat disappear, sinking down to where it came from.

So when she comes home to find an empty apartment, hours after Peter _promised_ to be home, that fear claws through her every cell and lights a fire of terror in her heart.

‘Peter!’ she calls, already pulling out her phone.

A few taps and she has her newest app up; the special one an apologetic and shaking Tony Stark had pointed out when he gave her the phone. May’s not needed to use it before now, though Peter assures her he and Mr Stark had tested it ‘super thoroughly, like so through you’ll not need to worry. Not that we did anything bad to test it, no way.’

She’d swallowed the laugh bubbling up inside her and glared instead.

Now all she wants to do is glare again, a feeling she swallows as she follows the blinking red arrow into Peter’s room. It starts to flash green the moment she’s inside, lighting up Peter’s empty room with what seems to her to be a demented glee.

‘YOU HAVE FOUND PETER!’ a woman’s voice declares, sounding delighted.

‘I damned well haven’t,’ May growls, running her eyes over the room to see if she can spot Peter’s wristband - the one he promised never to take off, on pain of permanent grounding. If he’s broken his word…

‘...You have found Peter,’ the woman repeats, at a lower volume and with a note of reproach in her voice. ‘Are you at the correct elevation?’

The what?

‘Are you at the correct elevation?’ the woman says again, this time gently. ‘Peter Parker is currently eleven stories above the ground.’

May and Ben’s apartment is on the sixth floor. Of their ten storey building.

Can Peter _fly?_

Shaking her head, May eyes the open window. It might not be over the fire escape - May’s window has that dubious honour - but well… Spider-Man is infamous for his ability to scuttle along the sides of buildings, to cling to non-existent grips.

Meaning _Peter_ can do all that. After all, Spider-Man is nothing more than a suit if Stark’s to be believed.

But all this thinking isn’t getting her any closer to Peter. May bites her lip. The fury at being lied to that has been roaring like fire through her veins since she walked into the room is fighting against a growing certainty that Peter might be on the roof because he wants to be alone.

_But what if he’s not there?_

It’s that thought, above all others, that gets her to move.

********

Something settles in May’s stomach when she sees Peter sitting on the edge of the roof, leaving her feeling light and floaty even as her heart clenches at the sight of Peter so close to danger. He’s not looking at her, too focused on looking out over the lights of their city.

He’s also not wearing the suit and May can just see its sleeves poking out of the backpack behind him.

‘Peter?’ May asks gently, and her heart flies into her throat when Peter jumps. But he doesn’t fall, just whips around to stare at her with the widest eyes she’s seen on him in a long while.

Well since she found out about Spider-Man. A few weeks then.

‘May! How… how’d you get up here?’

Smiling, May points at the door behind her. ‘There’s a door you know.’

‘Locked,’ Peter flings back, narrowing his eyes.

‘I’ve a key,’ May replies, holding up the bobby pins in her hand.

Peter looks delighted. ‘You _picked the lock_?’, he says, reaching out for the pins. May steps close enough for him to take them, but can’t bring herself to get any closer to the edge. ‘Did I know you could do that? That is so cool that you can do that? How how can you do that?’

‘Your Tony Stark isn’t the only one with useful skills,’ May says, keeping her eyes on Peter’s face while she avoids as many of the questions as she can. Now is not the time to explain her less than stellar runs in with the law over the years.

‘Mind coming over this side of the ledge?’ she says gently and Peter startles.

‘Oh right.’ He swings his legs over as May steps back, putting him on solid ground.

May breathes a full breath for the first time since she got home this evening.

‘So what are you doing up here?’ she asks and isn’t surprised when Peter looks down. ‘Not that great a view, and it’s a little cold buddy.’

‘Just needed to think for a minute,’ Peter says and May doesn’t need the way he bites his lip and stutters to know he’s lying.

It’s a bolt of warm relief to know she can still pick up on his tells.

‘And you needed to stay out past curfew to do it?’

Peter jerks his head up, his eyes wide. ‘What? No! I’m still-’ he looks down at his phone, ‘-so not in time for curfew. Shit.’

May just raises an eyebrow and lets the swearing go. Mild enough to ignore. ‘So you lost track of a lot of time then?’

For a moment Peter twitches, like he’s about to turn back to dangle his legs over the edge of the roof again. Then he sighs and nods.

‘I could… I needed…’ he breaks off and sighs again, lowering his head to stare at his backpack.

At the Spider-Man suit.

‘I could hear the sirens…,’ he says after a long moment of silence. ‘And the… the cries. So many and they were so close… I thought I could help-’

‘Peter,’ May says warning, reproach, and horror all warring for dominance in her tone. Undermining them all is the pride she can’t help but feel at the idea of her boy a _hero_.

‘-but then I remembered I swore I wouldn’t, not tonight and I _promised_ .’ He looks up at her with something muted in his eyes. Something _awful_ , that May just can’t wrap her mind around.

‘I promised,’ he repeats, somehow making the words sound less like a teenager explaining their actions and more like a condemned man offering up justification for his actions.

‘Peter,’ May says running a hand along his cheek, ‘you are not responsible for every cry for help in this city.’

Jerking away from her hand, Peter turns so he’s facing out again. ‘I have the power to help and I _should_ . It’s _my_ responsibility.’

There’s an echo to Peter’s words, one May knows he can hear as well as she can. Ben’s voice saying exactly the same things - or words of a similar nature. He was always saying something like it, repeating the philosophy passed down from his father.

Peter’s grandfather, whose understanding of the world has gotten both his sons killed well before their times. May’s determined not to lose a third Parker to it.

‘Yes,’ she agrees, and swallows down the burning hate she’s feeling as she says it. Peter looks back at her with bright, wide eyes. ‘But you also have a responsibility to _learn_ to use your powers. To _grow_ , so you can use your power to help _more_ people in the future.’

‘But-’

May puts her finger up to cut Peter off. ‘No buts. If you use your powers all the time, take no time for yourself, you’ll not be around to save people in the future who need you _more_ than someone now does.’

‘So I chose who lives and dies.’ Peter looks heartbroken, like the world has dropped out from under him. ‘I make the choice and choose if someone lives.’

‘You don’t know that,’ May says, her words coming out in a rapid flow. ‘There is no way for you to know if you being there would have saved anyone.’ She pulls Peter into a hug, not caring that he’s still facing out and so has no way to wrap his own arms around her.

But he must care, because he shifts and wriggles around in May’s arms as if she has no grip at all on him. Then Peter all but dives into her chest, turning it into a proper hug.

‘You can’t save everyone,’ May whispers into Peter’s ear. ‘Understanding that is the greatest of the responsibilities that comes with great power. It’s the hardest lesson but it is one you _have_ to learn since you have this responsibility.’

_You shouldn’t have it yet_ . _This lesson shouldn’t be yours to learn yet_ , May doesn’t say but she knows Peter hears it anyway from the way he stiffens. Her silent words hang in the air - thickening the air until it’s all she can do to breathe.

‘I have to try.’ Peter pulls away and May lets him, knowing that there’s not much she can do to stop him if she didn’t want to let him go.

‘I know,’ May says and steps back. ‘And when it comes to the big ones, to the times you really are the only one I won’t stop you.’ She swallows and turns away. ‘But sometimes… can you just try to let the police do their job? Leave the sirens to someone else for a little while?’

She jumps when Peter puts his hands on her shoulders and turns her round. ‘I’ll try May,’ he says, the emphasis - as always - making her name sound like so much more than just May.

It always sounds like ‘Mom’ when he says it.

There’s a light in Peter’s eyes, something that makes May pause. He’s not lying - she _knows_ he’s not lying - but maybe… maybe he’s making a promise he knows he’s not going to keep.

Her heart sinks, the coldness in her blood warring with the pride she can’t help but feel at her boy - her _hero_.

Please God, science, and Tony Stark; let him be a living hero. Please.

‘That’s all I want,’ May lies with as real a smile as she can manage. ‘That’s all I want.’


End file.
